


Popular

by ForestSeaWitch



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Fluff, Gay Panic, Geralt secretly likes it, Idiots in Love, Jaskier is a fairy godmother, Longing, M/M, Pampering, does this count as a hair stylist au, more like idiots trying to be in love but too goddamn stupid to actually make a move, this makes Geralt a princess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-26
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:01:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23327422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch
Summary: Jaskier gets Geralt ready for Pavetta's engagement ball.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 12
Kudos: 35
Collections: Witcher Mini Bang 2020





	Popular

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by [ForestSeaWitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch) in the [WitcherReverseBang](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/WitcherReverseBang) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Jaskier convinced Geralt to go to the princess's engagement, but can he convince the witcher to get all gussied up as well?

**“Anyway you’re not going tonight as a _witcher_ ,”** Jaskier was grinning, despite the glare Geralt was burning into his soul. It never seemed to make all that much of a difference, and they’d shared the same set of expressions more times than Jaskier could recall in their short time together thus far. However, he could _easily_ count the times it had worked on him. And that number was a large, glaring zero. 

**“What the fuck _am_ I going as, then?”** The witcher wasn’t trying to kill him, so that was a good thing. Jaskier wondered how in the world he had survived so far, wandering with Geralt and annoying the absolute piss out of him. He could go on and claim they were not friends all he liked, but Jaskier knew better. The fact that Geralt had not demanded his clothes returned immediately told him everything he needed to know.

**“I’ll show you once you’re clean. Think I’m letting you get those grubby hands all over freshly tailored clothes? Absolutely not.”** They were a gift, and Geralt could thank him later. He wouldn’t, of course, but the opportunity was there to do so. As always. And naturally, Jaskier would remind him every chance he got. **“I mean really, look at these…give me your…Geralt stop it, give me your hand.”** The witcher kept pulling his hand away as Jaskier tried to get ahold of one, but finally he did, and examined those nails, tsking the whole time.

**“Bloody filthy. Do you _never_ clean beneath your nails? I knew it would take some work, but this is ridiculous.”** Jaskier shook his head with a sigh, rubbing through his hair. **“It’s just as well we have plenty of time. Take your hair down, it needs a proper washing.”** Geralt glared at him even harder, and Jaskier rolled his eyes.

**“Fine, _I’ll_ do it. Are you going to be this difficult the whole time? You’re supposed to be the older one. More mature.”** At least the witcher didn’t fight him in this, and allowed the bard to untie the string in his hair. **“There, that’s not so bad, is it? Hmmm, you could do with a bit of a trim, I suppose. We’ll see if we have any time for that once you’re well and clean. Gods, do you _ever_ comb this out?”** He found himself sighing often, when it came to the witcher. Jaskier grabbed a comb and started to pull through tangled strands of grey and white. 

He clucked his tongue judgmentally, shaking his head. **“I suppose at your witcher academy they don’t really teach the value of conditioner.”** That only got him a short grunt of response, but Jaskier was hardly put off. Once Geralt’s hair was free of tangles, he worked a lather of soap into it, massaging the witcher’s scalp. It seemed that Geralt was relaxing beneath his touch, but Jaskier did not bring attention to it. The more relaxed the witcher got, the better. And it was rather nice to see, he thought. Geralt was so moody and uptight, all the time, and it was about damn time he enjoyed the finer things in life.

Jaskier wasn’t expecting him to suddenly lean back in the bath, with his eyes closed, humming softly as he received a light scalp massage. He stopped for a moment, but quickly got back to work when Geralt’s eyebrows furrowed. Oh he did _not_ want to mess up this rare opportunity. Jaskier was grinning down at the witcher, having never seen him like this before. It was intoxicating, actually, and Jaskier wondered what else he could do, to entice more reactions like that out of him. He massaged behind Geralt’s ears, and then down to his neck, to ease the tension there. That earned him a deep, satisfied rumble that could have made a mountain break down.

It was the longest silence Jaskier had ever experienced, from himself, as he sat there and slowly rubbed Geralt’s neck and shoulders. Had the witcher gotten a massage before? Damn, there wasn’t the time for it. But he absolutely would have done so. Maybe he would, as a gesture of thanks for attending the engagement ball tonight. **“I think my shoulders are massaged enough, Jaskier,”** there was a soft chuckle in Geralt’s voice. Jaskier lifted his hands from the witcher’s shoulders with a light huff.

**“Have you ever been massaged in your however many years? I was undoing decades of monster hunting,”** he retorted. Which was…partly true. Obviously. But Jaskier had been enjoying himself, pampering the witcher in ways he hadn’t been allowed to before. Or had he always been, and never had the proper chance to do it? He might have to test this more, in the future. 

**“Give me your hands,”** Jaskier demanded, with one of his outstretched. The other held a small metal file, both for cleaning under the nails and evening them out. If they were going to do this thing, they were going to do it damn right. 

**“Again?”** Geralt dropped one heavy palm into Jaskier’s anyway.

**“Yes, again. Don’t grump. I was just looking at how dirty they were before. And now I’m _undoing_ the dirt.”** Jaskier sat on a stool, carefully and meticulously cleaning Geralt’s nails, whilst the witcher held incredibly still. He could feel those golden eyes staring at him, studying him. If he looked up, he was going to get lost in them, and then where would they be? Well, Jaskier would be a babbling mess trying to prove he wasn’t completely fawning over the witcher, when he very clearly was. It was easier to focus on these disgusting nails and the dirt under them, rather than risk that. 

Geralt didn’t protest when he gave his other hand over, though he did grunt slightly when Jaskier found a splinter deep in his nailbed. **“How the hell did…Geralt, was this even from today?”** Jaskier looked up at him with a frown, and the witcher merely shrugged. **“Gods how did you survive all these years without me?”** Jaskier shook his head, getting back to task. 

**“With more silence,”** Geralt was smirking when Jaskier looked up at him, mouth open in shock. 

**“That,”** he pointed the tool at Geralt, **“Was rude.”** Although it was also rather funny. Jaskier couldn’t tell him that, or he would never hear the end of it. Once Geralt’s hands were done, Jaskier stood, grabbing a fresh towel and holding it up, turning his face away. The witcher may have been a vision in the nude, but he still had respect for the man. 

**“Go sit over there,”** Jaskier pointed at a low chair as Geralt dried himself. **“I’m cutting that hair of yours.”**

**“No.”**

Jaskier was caught off guard by the sharpness in Geralt’s tone, and turned to find a rather sour face. **“Not _short_. Your ends are all haggard and ripped. You have to _fit in_ at this sort of event, Geralt. I’m going to have you looking like a proper nobleman.”**

**“So that’s my disguise for the night,”** Geralt half-smiled at him again. Damn it, he’d figured it out. Jaskier frowned, waving his hand at the witcher.

**“Go sit!”** He met Geralt at the mirror with a small pair of shears. Jaskier had to cut his own hair, of course, so naturally he’d become quite adept at doing so. **“This won’t be long. I mean your hair will still be long. But the time…”** Jaskier frowned at himself and pulled all of Geralt’s hair back, combing it down to lay flat. The trim took even less time than cleaning his fingernails had. And thank the gods for that, because they were going to run short on time as it was. Ah well, nothing better than being fashionably late, he supposed.

**“Hmmm. Well that’s as good as I can make with what I’ve got to work with…”** Jaskier set the shears down and combed Geralt’s hair down, so it might dry straighter than the usual tangled mess he had. He glanced in the mirror and noted that the witcher had that dopey, pleased, closed-eyed expression on again. He was quickly becoming addicted to it. Of course Geralt had _always_ been handsome, but like this? He was _delectable_. The bard needed more.

He carefully set the comb down, but of course Geralt’s hyper-attuned senses picked up on that, those golden eyes springing open. They somehow opened already locked onto Jaskier’s gaze, which made the bard flush slightly as he cleared his throat and turned towards the bedroom. **“Now…now follow me, Geralt. I had some clothes prepared so you look…”** Jaskier had seen Geralt naked before, countless times, but he hadn’t expected the witcher to just drop his towel and follow along, completely naked. Jaskier had not been given nearly enough time to mentally prepare himself, and he feared that it showed all over his face.

**“What is that?”** Geralt was pointing at the outfit Jaskier had laid out, but was grinning at him, staring him straight in the face. It took the bard a few moments to compose himself, but damn if his mind was not elsewhere completely for what felt like an eternity. Something in the way Geralt looked at him made him wonder if the witcher wasn’t keenly aware of that fact. Could witchers read minds? Jaskier found himself in a sudden panic at the idea of it, and did his very best to think of nothing. It did not work. 

**“Those are clothes, Geralt,”** Jaskier finally managed to choke out, somehow rearranging his expression into one far more neutral. Damned witchers. **“You know, you put them on so people don’t see all your bits?”** He handed the smallclothes to Geralt first, so he could prepare the rest of it. 

**“Are these even going to fit me?”** Geralt pretended to grump as he pulled on first the pants, and then the chemise. Jaskier would be lying if he said that he’d never imagined Geralt in this exact outfit before. The circumstances surrounding it had been quite different, though.

**“Of course they’re going to fit. Why do you think I’ve spent so many days meticulously cleaning your witcher clothes? Did you think I enjoyed doing your laundry?”** Ah, so that finally took Geralt by surprise, did it? Jaskier felt proud of himself for that one, smiling wide. He missed the way Geralt looked at him just then, as he reached for the lovely trousers he’d just picked up this morning. Because _of course_ he had planned this advance, and only just asked Geralt tonight. He’d put it off for so long because he had no idea what he would have done if the witcher had refused him. Likely just kept badgering until Geralt said yes, he supposed.

**“Jaskier,”** Geralt frowned at the trousers, apparently confused by the attachments for his shirt. The bard rose an eyebrow, urging the witcher to put them on. **“What’s the purpose of these? Why are they complicated?”**

The bard actually laughed at that, putting both hands on top of his head. **“You’ve never worn trousers that aren’t simply laced up the front, have you?”** Geralt frowned and shook his head, looking slightly shifty. Jaskier tempered his giggles, and pulled the trousers up to Geralt’s waist, holding them in place. **“Put your hands _here_ ,”** he instructed. They fit, of course, but they would fall down immediately if they didn’t attach the top properly. Goodness sake. 

**“This is baffling, Geralt. I can’t believe nobody’s ever dressed you up like this. Alright. Hmm. One arm first, then the other, or those are just going to hit the floor,”** he warned, holding the shirt open for the witcher. And Melitele smiled up on him, because Geralt actually listened and did as asked. Would wonders never cease? Once the main undershit was on, Geralt looked positively confused and bewildered. Jaskier had to stop himself from snickering over and over at the expression on his face. But how could he not? Geralt was a vision of confusion, and Jaskier was soaking up every moment.

**“Right. So…this attaches at the sides. Like so. Geralt I have to touch you to do this, you know.”** The witcher rolled his eyes, but stopped fidgeting away from Jaskier’s touch. Finally, he could make some kind of damn progress. Once the sides of the shirt were properly hooked up, Jaskier set about tucking in the front and back flaps so they laid seamless beneath the trousers. **“The jacket is a little more tricky, with the hooks. But it keeps everything together. That’s the most important thing, so you can’t take it off. Or the whole outfit is going to come undone. Quite literally.”** Honestly, Geralt was _how_ old and had never worn these kinds of clothes before? 

Although now Jaskier was just imagining Geralt getting fed up with the outer top and removing it, only for his trousers to fall down. And now wouldn’t _that_ be a sight to behold? But no, not at the Cintran princess’s engagement. And certainly not in public, good gods. Jaskier was careful in attaching the jacket properly in place. Geralt’s hair was nearly dry, and how the hell had that happened so quickly? Jaskier finger combed through it with a look of concentration, and then realized Geralt was just _staring_ at him. 

**“What?”** Was he sweating? Oh gods, he was sweating. Jaskier’s heart had jumped up in the ticks and he prayed that Geralt did not hear that. 

**“I’m going to wear my medallion,”** Geralt informed him. **“Not for some piece of fashion. I need it, if something goes wrong. I can get ahead of it.”** Did he always speak so softly, or had this outfit brought out a new side to him? Jaskier just nodded in silent agreement, and the witcher pulled it from beneath his shirts to lay right in plain view. It _was_ a stunning piece, Jaskier had to admit, and perhaps with enough drinks in them, nobody would realize that it was a symbol of the witcher. 

**“Good. Fine, yes. That…that’s good. Now sit, I have to finish your hair.”** Geralt was chuckling, though he looked a tad uncomfortable as he sat. He wasn’t used to the way those sorts of clothes clung and pulled, Jaskier reckoned. Well tonight would be a learning experience, then. The witcher had chosen to sit himself at the foot of the bed, hands laid patiently on his thighs. Jaskier fetched a small brush and a ribbon, and he was glad there was no mirror for Geralt to stare at him through this time. The faces he was making while brushing through and styling that silvery hair were not ones he wanted the witcher to make note of. Jaskier was sure he did not feel even remotely the same, and wasn’t that just a tragedy? 

**“You know, it’s a wonder what your hair will do when it’s properly washed,”** he commented, receiving a soft grunt in response. The downside of no mirror was that he couldn’t see whatever serene expression had settled on Geralt’s face. Jaskier carefully brushed back half of his hair, securing it with the dark tie. He climbed down off the bed and stood before Geralt, fluffing and arranging his hair. Jaskier spooked, having sworn he felt a hand on his thigh, but when he looked down he saw he was mistaken. Well that was more embarrassing than anything, wasn’t it? 

**“There…alright. You look fantastic, if I do say so myself. And, well, I do.”** Jaskier reached down for Geralt’s hands, pulling him up from his perch and leading him to the mirror in the next room. **“The finished product! Not bad, eh?”**

Geralt examined himself, touching his clothes. There was an odd look on his face again, and Jaskier couldn’t help but grin. **“I thought you said I was going disguised as a nobleman?”** he suddenly asked, raising an eyebrow at the bard.

**“And you are…? What do you mean?”**

**“I look like a silk trader.”**

Jaskier made a noise of offense, slapping Geralt’s shoulder. **“You do not,”** he retorted. But the witcher had a point, not that Jaskier could actually _do_ anything about it this late. These were the clothes he had, and this is what would have to do. **“Anyway, since I wasn’t coated in selkimore guts, I’m going to be quick with getting ready. So…just…hang on a bit?”**

Geralt grunted, turning to Jaskier and gripping his shoulders. Firmly, but not too tight, and oh gods were his eyes the loveliest golden color in soft candlelight. Jaskier gulped, and he could feel the bubbling rise of all the things he had wanted to say to Geralt since they’d begun traveling together. The witcher simply nodded, and pat Jaskier’s cheek before leaving to the other room. **“The clothes fit well,”** was all he said as he left the bard to it.

Jaskier took a few moments to compose himself before getting ready for the evening. They were absolutely going to have a conversation about this once the night was over.


End file.
